y," continued the minister, in a kinder tone;
"compose yourself. I am to blame for using such a term. Forgive me
for it--I did not mean all that it conveyed. But you know how
fragile and how delicate a plant is that. You should have thought of
her and me before you gratified a passion as wild as it is idle. Now,
tell me every thing. Conceal and disguise nothing. I will listen to
your calmly, and I will be indulgent. The past is not to be recalled.
Aid me in the future, if you are generous and just."

I related all that had passed between Miss Fairman and myself--all
that had taken place in my own turbulent soul--the battlings of the
will and judgment, the determination to overcome temptation, and the
sudden and violent yielding to it. Faithful to his command, I
concealed nothing, and, at the close of all, I signified my readiness,
my wish, and my intention to depart.

"Forgive me, sir, at parting," said I, "and you shall hear no more of
the disturber of your peace."

"I do not wish that, Stukely. I am indebted to you for the candour
with which you have spoken, and the proper view which you take of
your position. I wish to hear of you, and to serve you--and I will
do it. I agree with you, that you must leave us now--yes, and at once;
and, as you say, without another interview. But I will not turn you
into the world, lad, without some provision for the present, and
good hopes for the future. I owe you much. Yes--very much. When I
consider how differently you might behave, how very seriously you
might interfere with my happiness"--as Mr. Fairman spoke, he opened
the drawer of a table, and drew a checque-book from it--"I feel that
you ought not to be a loser by your honesty. I do not offer you this
as a reward for that honesty--far from it--I would only indemnify
you--and this is my duty."

Mr. Fairman placed a draft for a hundred pounds in my hand.

"Pardon me, sir," said I, replacing it on his table. "I can take no
money. Millions could not _indemnify_ me for all that I resign.
Judge charitably, and think kindly of me, sir--and I am paid. Honour
is priceless."

"Well, but when you get to London?"--

"I am not altogether friendless. My salary is yet untouched, and will
supply my wants until I find employment."

"Which you shall not be long without, believe me, Stukely, if I have
power to get it you--and I think I have. You will tell me where I may
address my letters. I will not desert you. You shall not repent th